


Unspoken Wounds

by ElenCelebrindal



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Zexal
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Guilt, How Do I Tag, I Made Myself Cry, I mean he fell down a lot, I'm sure someone did this before, M/M, Ryoga is worried, What happens after Sargasso, i have a very generic mind, im sorry it that's the case, someone definitely did this before i know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 09:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18962719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElenCelebrindal/pseuds/ElenCelebrindal
Summary: Astral's airship, after the Battle of Sargasso. Everyone is recovering, Kite and Orbital are maneuvering the ship, Astral is hidden away in the Emperor's Key after causing Dark ZeXal.When Ryoga goes searching for Yuma, nowhere to be found after leaving, he discovers Yuma is hiding even more pain than everyone knew. And does his best to help him.Could be seen either as a Sharkbait or just Ryoga and Yuma being friends. The ship's not there if you don't want to see it.





	Unspoken Wounds

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't know if someone else wrote something similar. I have a feeling someone did, either as fic or in a post, but I honestly don't remember. So if you see something you recognize, know that I never intended to copy. Normally I don't disclaim myself like these, but I'm feeling just a little bit paranoid. 
> 
> I wrote their dialogue after coming across some dialogue prompts on tumblr, and the fic kinda wrote itself in the process. As always, I don't have a beta so I'm sorry for eventual mistakes and whatnot.

Wounds unspoken

 

The Battle of Sargasso had ended. Fleeing victorious from the crumbling dimension that warped reality at its own will, the crew drew in a breath of relief upon passing into the Overlay Network.   
Astral’s airship didn’t take as much damage as Tori and the others thought at first, and it was already flying towards Heartland, their next destination as to drop everyone who wasn’t needed in the mission.   
The guys were recovering, shaken from almost being crushed to pieces by a black hole. Tori was slumped on the stairs of the cockpit with Rio keeping her company and talking quietly, while Bronk, Caswell and Flip  were sitting down on the floor near her. Caswell was visibly shaken and as pale as a ghost, but would survive with no major issues. Cathy wasn’t far from them, cross-legged on the floor and looking into nothingness, much like her beloved cats.   
The control panel was under the supervision of Kite and Orbital, busy maneuvering the ship while also keeping an eye on coordinates and stability. Various screens showed Kite maps and directions, and even though the young man was weary and worn out he couldn’t let his guard down. They’ve already been abducted by the Barians. It wasn’t going to happen again anytime soon.   
On his own, sitting down as far as possible from the rest of the crew, Ryoga was trying to take a hold of himself, forcing anger and unwanted fear to subside into a more bearable feeling. If he was to say Sargasso didn’t scare him, he would be shamelessly lying.   
The different dimension battlefield put a strain on his already damaged nerves, real pain coming from above adding to it in a not-so-gentle way. He would be stupid, if he was to say the Barians weren’t scary. Merciless aliens barely resembling humans, with sharp claws and stone bodies, ready to do anything, to hurt anyone for their goals.   
And Vector… he was the worst.   
Ryoga was terrified by him, more than being absolutely furious. How could he not be? He hid so well between them, no one noticed until he crushed everyone under his words. Rei Shingetsu was his polar opposite, a good-hearted boy no one could believe was actually a bloodthirsty Barian.   
He insinuated his voice so deep in their minds, even Astral fell for that vicious poison dripping as sweet as honey. Dark ZeXal proved how powerful the venom of a betrayer could get, slithering and crawling with one purpose only: destroy any hope that existed.   
Shutting his eyes closed, so hard he started seeing imaginary stars, Ryoga took a deep breath and relaxed as much as he could, trying to chase away the constant pain flashing through his body. After a while, as the airship fell silent following everyone falling asleep, included a more than exhausted Kite that nearly collapsed on the floor, Ryoga started to think the cockpit was _too_ quiet.   
Aside from Bronk’s soft snoring and Orbital’s occasional beeping as he supervised, no noise could be heard.   
Frowning, as apprehension started to click in place, Ryoga stood up with a stifled grunt using the wall as leverage to get to his feet.   
Yuma…  
Yuma wasn’t there.

 

Just to be sure, Ryoga took another thorough look around the cockpit, in an attempt to spot unruly black and red hair, maybe a glimpse of his sleeping form. The teen barely registered what Yuma said before leaving earlier, some kind of excuse Ryoga didn’t hear properly, and since then he still hadn’t returned. His ears were still ringing, every sound was a muffled incongruence of noises.   
Tired out of his mind, Ryoga forced his legs to keep holding his weight for a little more and went searching for Yuma.   
He had to be alone, since Astral secluded himself in the Emperor’s Key, and Ryoga couldn’t help but wonder why. Not that Yuma’s problems concerned him, he just wanted to make sure the teen wasn’t dying somewhere. That was all.   
Or at least, that was what he kept on telling himself, poking his head in every room he could find in that weirdly shaped airship, gritting his teeth as wave after wave of pain hit him with every step.   
For a moment, only a thousandth of a second, Ryoga found himself blaming Astral for that. If the glowing alien hadn’t buried himself away, then Yuma would be around. He could have blamed Yuma, for keeping Rei’s true identity a secret and thus deceiving Astral, but the thought never crossed his mind. Astral gave in to Vector’s taunts, not Yuma. Yuma stood up for his friend and got beat up for that.  
Finally, after wandering around for what seemed like an eternity, Ryoga came to a halt in front of a familiar door. The room Kite insisted to use as an emergency infirmary, labeled by nothing but Ryoga’s brain remembering it.   
His eyebrows still sculpted in a frown, Ryoga slowly pushed the door open and took a peek inside. Soon enough, a bright light wounded his eyes and Yuma’s black and red hair stuck up against it.  
«Hey, Yuma? Are you o…kay?».  
The question died in his throat, as his eyes adjusted to the light and everything became less of a blur.

 

 

Startled, Yuma let go of the bottle he was holding and frantically grabbed his jacket, barely covering his naked chest with it before turning his back to Ryoga.   
He stifled a pained moan upon doing so, all his body aching with the movement, and nodded way too fast for his pounding headache to take it.   
He wasn’t expecting anyone to come search for him, even less Ryoga of all people.

 

 

Frozen in place, still framed by the door, Ryoga forgot the pain he was in: «You… you’re hurt», was all he could say, his voice toneless, almost apathetic. He still wasn’t registering what he was looking at.

 

 

«Oh, am I?».  
The question should have sounded sarcastic, snarky even, if half of the sound weren’t drowned in his throat.

 

 

«Yuma, you’re bleeding!», Ryoga finally snapped out of it, his eyes widening as he took in the scene in front of his eyes.   
Yuma was sitting on the floor, one leg bent under him and the other stretched out, and even if he tried to hide his body Ryoga could still make out thin trails of blood trickling on the floor. Deep red was merging with the brighter hue of the jacket, and blood was splattered all around Yuma, in tiny specks and drops. His shirt, forgotten and tattered, was lying forgotten on the tiles, apparently thrown away.

 

 

Yuma shook vigorously his head, curling on himself as much as his conditions let him: «I’m _fine_. Please, go away», he asked him. His voice was nothing but a whimpering whisper, coaxed out by sheer willpower. He didn’t need him. He was perfectly fine dealing with his pain alone.   
He deserved it.

 

 

Holding in a frustrated groan, Ryoga approached and snatched the jacket out of Yuma’s grasp, throwing it aside to land on top of the shirt.   
As he moved his gaze on Yuma, however, his composure faltered, and Ryoga drew in a sharp breath upon seeing his body.   
Yuma’s back was littered with bruises, both fresh and healing, bright pink scratches standing out against a complexion too pale to be healthy. On his right side a long cut was bleeding from several points, at least telling Ryoga the wound wasn’t deep enough to constantly spill blood.   
He was a mess, speckled with minor injuries, trembling from the cold or maybe the shock.   
«Yuma…».  
His name came out in a tone much softer than Ryoga intended to, much more mitigated by apprehension and care, but he couldn’t help it. Not with that in front of his eyes.

 

 

The teen scoffed, looking away: «I can take care of this», he said. He wanted to sound bold, and resolute, but he couldn’t even manage that as a new twinge shot through his body. Yuma whined, raising a hand to his side and clenching the other, not even knowing when the pain was coming from.   
He was too wounded to even guess, at that point.

 

 

«I’m going to help you», Ryoga decided.

 

 

«There’s no need to».

 

 

Ignoring him and his clearly failing voice, Ryoga kneeled in front of Yuma – and oh god his chest was in even worse conditions, painted with purple and yellowish bruises, cuts and scratches – and took the first aid kit to inspect what was inside.   
A couple rolls of bandages, band-aids, tweezers, sterile gloves and a bunch other things Ryoga didn’t think were useful in that situation. The bottle of antiseptic was still on the floor, rolled away from where Yuma dropped it, as well as cotton wool and a couple gauzes.   
«I’m not taking orders from you», he retorted, pouring drops of antiseptic over a ball of cotton wool before dabbing it carefully on the wound.

 

 

Yuma winced in pain as Ryoga started treating the long cut on his side, and kept on looking as far away as possible: «It’s no big deal», he tried to swat him off, but his voice cracked again.   
The burning feeling on the wound wasn’t too much to handle, but his body had suffered enough physical damage to make it seem like fire melting skin and bones.   
All the Duels he’d fought left their mark, fall after fall. Yuma kept on standing up, kept on fighting for what seemed right, despite the screams and cries trapped in his head. He was starting to forget his own happiness, to put others’ well-being in front of his own, and  his skin was nothing but a canvas slashed and damaged. Some could say a ripped canvas was a portal to a whole other dimension*, but for Yuma it was no piece of art.   
His body aching for peace and relief was begging for a moment of quiet, not running towards a higher plane of existence. Blood and pain could be seen as a brave displaying of kindness and willpower**, but Yuma wanted nothing if not to drown in an endless sea of numbness and rest.

 

 

Obviously, Ryoga noticed how Yuma sounded hurt and exhausted, but settled on putting up a silent façade and ignored his words as he moved to dab more antiseptic on smaller cuts and scratches. Surely his legs were wounded as well, seeing how Yuma kept one of them stretched out to be comfortable. But he didn’t have any trouble walking, so Ryoga knew he could brush it off as nothing.   
«You’re lucky it’s all superficial», he said, dropping some more antiseptic on a clean ball of cotton wool. «The bleeding is already stopping».

 

 

«Thanks, you can leave me alone now», was all Yuma replied with, still decided to avoid Ryoga’s gaze at all costs. What did he do to deserve such kindness from him, anyway? He just trapped them all in a potentially lethal battlefield and compromised their mission by befriending the enemy. Ryoga should have been anywhere but there, kneeling down at Yuma’s side and tending at his wounds.   
Hell, he ruined a perfectly fine friendship by silently siding up with a Barian. He knew Re-Vector was lying, he could feel how wrong the situation was. But he chose to be oblivious and believed the absurd made-up story Vector told him just to keep him close. He believed so much he forgot those were all lies, and ultimately ended up trusting Vector more than his own friends.   
He deserved to be alone, to be left alone, to deal with his pain with no company other than his guilt.  
He deserved the sharp sting of loneliness and shame coming from deep inside the Key, enveloping him more and more with every second and minute.

 

 

Again, Ryoga ignored him and checked Yuma’s head, gently taking it in both hands to see if he had any injuries. His fingers were soft, maybe more than he wanted to show, as he turned his gaze around. There was dried up blood at the nape of his neck, but it clearly smeared from a cut below when Vector sent Yuma flying on the ground. Still, Ryoga stopped his looking around only when completely sure Yuma didn’t have bleeding wounds, and made a mental note to have Kite bring him to his doctors to check for an eventual concussion.   
Satisfied with his actions, even though seeing Yuma’s gaze constantly escaping from his own was frustrating, Ryoga recovered a roll of bandages and used it to carefully wrap Yuma’s torso, taking care of covering the bigger wound without applying too much pressure. The bandage remained clean of newly spilled blood despite the movements, maybe a good sign.   
«You should have said something», Ryoga finally reprimanded the teen, tying a small knot to keep the bandages in place. He didn’t know how to do it better, so Yuma would have to wait until the airship left the Overlay Network.   
Only then Ryoga started to realize how much Yuma hid from everybody. Sure, he thought he noticed something was off – sometimes Yuma would inhale sharp breaths out of the blue, or walk just a little bit slower – but always brushed it away. Yuma had always been a strange open book, after all. He didn’t think the teen could be able to hide away all that pain.  
«Why are you hurting yourself like this?».

 

 

Yuma snorted out a bitter laugh at that, lowering his gaze on the floor. His blood was dried up on blueish tiles, small specks of dark red dotting it like drops of paint. He should have spilled more, covered the entire space until his body was left pale and empty, lifeless as a badly crafted sculpture. He deserved wounds much more deeper than the ones he had, as deep as the wounds he opened in Astral’s heart, in his friends’ trust.   
«Bothering you even more with my idiocy is definitely on my list of priorities», he snapped at him, his voice coming out raspy and low as he forced it to come out.    
Then, his attitude dropped, as if someone had closed the blinds on his bold assumptions. He wasn’t able to keep that impression, he’s never been. His father taught him to be sincere, kind, always ready to hold out a hand for someone calling for help. Yuma didn’t know how to be harsh.   
«If I don’t do this, if I refuse to push myself forward, then other people will have to bear this pain. I don’t want that», he then said, finally crossing Ryoga’s eyes.   
He saw deep worry hidden in them, precisely tucked away below an endless ocean of black and blue, and not a hint of anger. Yuma had seen his eyes flashing in rage, knew how unforgiving and cruel the light in those eyes could turn just by saying mere words. None of it was in them. And that… that understanding and compassion broke him.   
«I’m a fool», he whispered, sighing, a guilty smile barely curving his lips as tears stung in his eyes.

 

 

«I know you are», Ryoga immediately replied. «Mind to be a little more specific? You’re proving various points right now», he added. His tone wasn’t sarcastic, nor menacing. He wanted to lift Yuma’s spirit, just by being himself.   
When Yuma fell silent, however, Ryoga shook his head and hugged the teen, mindful of his injuries and maybe just a tad embarrassed he wasn’t wearing a shirt. But he didn’t flinch back, and when Yuma finally gave in and started crying, Ryoga was there for him, rubbing soothing circles on his back and letting warm tears soak his shirt.   
He was too young for that much pain. _They_ were all too young. The destiny of three worlds was too much to handle for someone so little and gentle.   
Yuma had lost his parents, his best friend, his trust, his happiness… until he ultimately lost himself. For as much as Ryoga could say he found the teen annoying, a burden he would be oh-so-happy to leave behind, the truth was, he cared for him. He cared for their friendship, longed for it. When Yuma refused to let go, Ryoga could have easily shrugged him off like he did with everyone else, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.   
And now, now the war was taking him away, capturing his soul and body, marking it with wounds and scars that would never heal.   
As Yuma cried away his sorrow, whimpering in Ryoga’s arms, clutching at his shirt like his life depended on it, Ryoga swore to himself he was going to save him.   
He was going to spare him all that suffering, all that anguish, with all he could give.

 

 

 

Little did he know, that fate is _never_ kind.

And the Emperor awoke from the ashes of his downfall.

**Author's Note:**

> * thanks, Contemporary Art, for giving me inspiration. "Concetto spaziale - Attesa" is behind that reasoning, if your curious. The artist is Lucio Fontana. 
> 
> ** and thanks again, Gina Pane, for your performances. At least I know my exam knowledge is going somewhere. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! As always, kudos and comments are always appreciated!  
> See you in the next one!


End file.
